


It would be a beautiful life, if you could live it.

by LordJixis



Series: Your Teeth: For Warm Things [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: (my first series), Apocalypse, M/M, and still part of a series, this is still sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-17 23:54:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17570342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordJixis/pseuds/LordJixis
Summary: All his days are spent the same.





	It would be a beautiful life, if you could live it.

**Author's Note:**

> the first summary for this was:  
> All his days are spent the same. 
> 
> He's bent so far, he wonders if he'll ever break.
> 
> ...let me know if that's better

He has quiet mornings, quiet evenings, and brutal days.

He wakes to sunlight pouring over trees, lush and the kind of green you'd only get with _really_ expensive paints. It's the first days of summer. The woods surrounding this small town are alive, thriving. Each breath is clear and clean; the smog that used to drift through the valley has completely dissipated (Enjolras would love that). He tries to appreciate it instead of agonizing over what it means.

It's a beautiful day.

And he's crouching behind a dumpster that there may or may not be a dead body in, based on the smell. If his luck holds, it won't be a living one, but his luck has never been all that great before. Case in point: the shoelace he's desperately trying to tie in what is, for all intents and purposes, a war zone. 

His backpack is so heavy the straps are digging into his shoulders, but the excess of canned food in it means that (hopefully) he won't have to take a trip into town for another few days.

A groaning, gurgling noise reminds him exactly why sitting around in a hospital room with his comatose crush is preferable to this. He clenches his fist around his machete. The blood from an earlier tussle is still drying on it.

Slowly, the body comes into view. It's (because it's an it, these aren't people, not anymore) dragging itself along the ground, nails torn out from trying for purchase on the rough asphalt. The face, when it comes into view, is surprisingly unscathed.

This is is no way a good thing.

He can see the sandy blonde hair, the eyes that he knew were once turquoise. Grantaire had known this man, back when he was still a man. He'd worked at the local organic grocery store, the one Enjolras shopped exclusively at.

Grantaire doesn't make a sound, but his heart drops to his feet.

It doesn't notice him. Just keeps it's slow pace, through the alley and out the other side. He looks after it for long moments before sliding his backpack off.

He's quiet. Professional. And it's head comes off in one clean swing.

He doesn't know if it's the right choice.

When he gets back to the hospital, he stares at the gun for long moments. Stares at the steady rise and fall of Enjolras' chest longer.

Some things, you'd rather miss.

**Author's Note:**

> uhhh love me shower me with affection
> 
> (there's a les mis webseries called 'the downtrodden' with a pilot on youtube rn go look at that it's delicious)
> 
> also i didn't want to use the word 'crush' but like 'love of his life' 'angel sent from heaven' or 'most beautiful person, inside and out, to have ever existed' seemed a bit excessive. input?


End file.
